


An Offer You Can't Refuse

by nevergonnaquitit



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, Slash, gangster au, gratuitous 4th wall breakage, twittibal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergonnaquitit/pseuds/nevergonnaquitit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gangster AU in which Baby is a cold-hearted killer and Saw is the son of a rival crime family. Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Saul Lecter aka Saw belongs to @TheLecterSaw aka NOT ME
> 
> thanks to @KingOf_Pain_ for the inspiration

 

"Friendship is everything. Friendship is more than talent. It is more than the government. It is almost the equal of family."  
\- Don Corleone

 

+++

 

You don't touch the Boss's things. That's rule number one, and Baby Winchester is about to break it.

He's still telling himself that it isn't entirely his fault. This started out as a simple job, just like any other.

Except it changed the course of his entire life.

 

+++

 

It was Thanksgiving, and every store in the city had been lit up for Christmas since Halloween. Baby himself had been out of town on business but it wasn't good form to miss a family gathering. Or more accurately, a Family gathering; this wasn't just his dad and him sitting down to a TV dinner, arguing over whether season 3 of Hannibal was _really_ coming out in the summer (fucking NBC _assholes_ ; Baby viciously hoped someone would put a hit out on some of them). No, Thanksgiving would be in the big house, and all of Baby's cousins and uncles and aunts, as well as a long string of _extended_ family members, would be there. He couldn't miss it.

He got a cab from the airport to Belmeade, the fancy gated community where the big house was the _biggest_ house around. It would've been big anywhere, three stories high, seventeen bedrooms, a fucking indoor pool, the whole nine yards. He got the cab to drop him off at the end of the long drive, planning to use the time it would take to walk up to _think_. It would likely be his last peaceful moment for the whole weekend.

At the time, he had no idea how true that would turn out to be.

Magnolia trees bowed down to cast shade over the drive in the summer but now, on the tail-end of autumn, they were skeletal and gray. Baby looked up, inhaling deeply. It smelled like it would snow. He was wearing his nicest suit under his heavy coat, his hat brim shading his eyes from the bright white of the sky. By the time he made it up to the fountain that split the drive in two (still and dead; it was a waste of water to run it when it might freeze over in the night), he'd worked up a little sweat. His cousin Dean was sitting on the edge of the fountain, puffing at a cigarette, but he put it out guiltily when he saw Baby. Baby's mother had died of lung cancer back in '98.

"You're late," Dean called out, standing up.

It was Dean who had given Baby his name. Baby wasn't his _real_  name, obviously. He'd been born a Paul. But as the youngest of the Winchester cousins, the nickname was an accurate, if not exactly intimidating, fit.

"Your dad's gonna kill you," Baby retorted, but he accepted the half-hug Dean gave him. When the two men pulled away, they grinned and bumped their fists together in a complicated set of movements, made easy from long practice in childhood.

"Still got it!" Dean laughed and jerked his chin towards the house looming up behind them. "Dad wants to talk to _you_ , actually."

Baby couldn't imagine what the Boss wanted to talk to _him_ about. He'd only spoken to John Winchester, the patriarch of the Winchester Family, a few times in his entire life. There was an odd tingling in his fingers and toes. But he shrugged with typical easy grace and said, "Maybe he's finally gonna give me your job."

"You wish," Dean growled, punching his arm and then heading into the house ahead of him.

 

+++

 

John Winchester didn't want to give Baby Dean's job.

The house was full of the smells of cooking, and everyone was already seated when Baby made it into the dining room right on Dean's tail. Both men settled in at the long table, and Baby reached over to shake hands with a few of his other cousins--Jo, her belly big but her grin full of mischief; Ash, who was still rocking a hairstyle that would have embarrassed the 90s; and Sam, John's other son, who slid a disapproving look from Baby to Dean and then back. Baby's father was already frowning at him, too. Gabriel was actually shorter and slighter than Baby, and the latter had to bend down slightly to whisper, "Delayed flight."

"He wanted to talk to you before we ate." Gabriel spoke in an undertone, mostly drowned out by the chatter of the other Family members. He cast a glance down at the head of the table, where John Winchester was calmly cutting into a thick slice of ham. "I imagine he'll pull you aside afterwards, now."

Baby knew better than to ask what the Boss wanted. No one would know anyway. John Winchester was notoriously closemouthed. A little sullenly, he dug into his peas and turkey.

Sure enough, when he got up to put his plate in the sink, John was standing up, too. He was a big man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard. He gestured and Baby set his plate down, face inscrutable as he followed John into his study.

The room was rather dark, all of the furniture heavy mahogany stuff shipped straight from Italy, the carpet a deep blue. Baby entered and stood before the desk that John sat down behind, swallowing hard when John fixed a searching gaze on his face.

"You had a good trip, I hope."

"It was...long, sir."

John snorted. He fumbled around in his desk until he found a cigar, which he lit up before resting his heavily booted feet up on the desk, no longer bothering to look at Baby, a lighter appearing in his hand as if by magic. "I heard about that job in Reno. That was a mess, wasn't it?"

To an outsider, it would sound like an innocuous enough question, but Baby flinched, beginning to sweat harder than he had during the long walk up the path. He'd thought of a million explanations on the way up--explanations for why he'd failed so badly. He'd let the mark get away, and the police got to her before Baby could. It caused a lot of legal trouble for the Family. "Yessir. It was."

"Well. We all make mistakes, son." John took a long drag of his cigar, and then puffed out a stream of smoke that all but obscured his face. "And I know you've learned your lesson. Haven't you."

"Yes."

"When you're given an order, you'd better damn well follow it."

"Yes."

"No hesitation."

"Yes."

"That's good. That's good." Abruptly, John reached over with his free hand and slid a folder across the surface of the desk. Stepping forward, Baby gathered the folder up, letting it fall open in his hands. His uncle spoke as he looked through it: "Saul Lecter. Son of _the_ Hannibal Lecter. Eighteen years old, and according to our sources a certified genius. Kid had a private tutor from the age of three, graduated high school at twelve, got his bachelor's just last year. He's got a list of psychological neuroses several pages long. Pretty sure they're in there somewhere." He made a careless gesture at the folder Baby was poring over.

"He looks..." Baby's brow furrowed as he stared down at the photo of a lanky kid with a shock of dark hair and baleful eyes, mouth turned down in a sneer. "Young," he finally settles on.

"Yeah, well, we're not interested in him for his jailbait potential _or_ for his big brain." John tapped a meaty finger against the desk. "He lives at home. Hardly ever leaves that fucking house, from what we can see. He even took all of his course credits online. If anyone has damning information on Lecter, that boy does."

The rivalry between the Winchesters and the Lecters wasn't news to anyone. Ostensibly, Dr. Lecter is a successful psychiatrist, but anyone in the business knows that he's _in the business_. His people are the Winchesters' direct competition--their _only_ real competition, because Dr. Lecter is too smart to get caught either by the cops, _or_ by Winchester informants.

"You want me to kidnap him," Baby said flatly.

"I want to talk to him." John smiled. It wan't very reassuring. "Here. Alone. At length."

Baby was silent for a long moment, staring down at that young, angry face. Then he closed the folder and nodded. "Understood."

He was almost out the door when John called out, "Paul?"

Slowly, Baby turned around, expression guarded.

"No fuck ups this time. Or there will be no more times."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but Baby nodded again and closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby tries to do the thing. The thing wants to be done.

A few years ago, the Lecter residence probably would have intimidated the shit out of Baby.

He lived in a little apartment with his dad for most of his life. They weren't poor; it was just that Gabriel had an active life, and he didn't like to feel tied down to some big, sprawling mansion. Baby always knew they were well-off; everyone in his family was. Especially his cousins, Sam and Dean, who came to visit every summer until Sam was sixteen, and Baby was fifteen. After that, they'd meet in the city, sneaking into clubs or bars owned by the family, trying to sweet talk the strippers at some of the seedier ones into giving them a lapdance (they only ever got patronizing pats on the cheek, but that didn't stop them from trying). Wherever they wanted to go, the Winchester boys were good for it. They drove nice cars, wore nice clothes. But they weren't nice people.

Well, that's not quite true. Dean was a shameless flirt but he was kind to his girlfriends and would give the shirt off his back for a friend. Sam was self-effacing and a little like a puppy dog in the way he was so overwhelmingly helpful at times. (He convinced John to give to a long list of charitable causes, which John did just for the sake of getting Sam to stop proselytizing). And Baby had a goofy sense of humor, but he would fall to pieces if he thought he'd actually hurt someone's feelings. He had a habit of writing long, laborous notes to those he thought he'd offended. Once, he wrote a ten page letter to Jo after he made a corny your-mama joke (forgetting that Jo's mother, like his own, had been dead for a long time). But despite their personal quirks and charms, when it came to the family business, the Winchesters were one and all deadly serious--and ruthless.

The summer Baby turned eighteen, Uncle John summoned him to the big house for the first time. His jaw had dropped almost all the way to the pavement when he finally realized exactly how rich Sam and Dean--and by extension, his own father and himself--really were. Ever since then, it's taken a lot to impress him.

The Lecter residence was classy, he'd give it that. He staked it out for a few days, trying to get a feel for the place. In all that time, he never saw Saul Lecter. People went in and out--most of them Dr. Lecter's "patients", only a few of which were actually receiving therapy. The good doctor hosted a dinner party one night and Baby sat in his car, methodically noting all of the city leaders, celebrities, authors, and socialites trailing in and out of the house. And yet his target never appeared, not once. It was like hunting a unicorn.

He had to be careful not to be noticed by Lecter's people. But Baby was good at not being noticed, and he switched up cars and license plates regularly. He never lingered for too long. Regardless, after a week, he realized the likelihood of tailing Saul Lecter himself was minimal; there was nothing to tail. The boy haunted the house like a particularly stubborn ghost.

So he set the house on fire.

Well, technically, just the garage. It was an easy enough feat for a professional like Baby. By the time the city fire department arrived, Baby had blended in with the crowd of onlookers who arrived to watch the scene unfold like spectators at a movie. Dr. Lecter was standing in the middle of his own people, looking unconcerned, his cell pressed to his ear. He was immaculately dressed even though it was three in the morning. Baby strongly suspected that he actually took the time to get dressed, even with his garage burning merrily in the cool December air.

And a long way away from the doctor, his son stood shivering in his pajamas, so far away from his father and the firefighters and the gathering crowd that he was mostly in darkness except for the flicker of flames on his anxious features.

In only took a minute or two for Baby to work his way over there. The more people who arrived, the further the Lecter boy pulled away, almost in the hedges by now. One of Baby's skills was _being quiet_ , when he really wanted to be. He walked up soundless as a shadow behind the boy. They were of a height, he noticed, before he pressed the cool barrel of his glock against the small of the boy's back and whispered, "Make a sound and bang, bang: you're dead."

"Oh thank Christ." Despite the fact that Saul Lecter looked like the kind of kid who would sooner punch you than talk to you, his voice was smooth and even and cultured. "I thought you'd never get the balls."

 

+++

 

There was no time for any more talking at the scene. Baby wanted to get away as soon as possible, and Saul Lecter apparently agreed with him because he beat Baby to the car by several seconds, more lithe on his feet even barefoot than Baby would ever have believed. ('He knows which car is mine,' Baby thought, somewhat irritably.) He re-holstered his gun as soon as it became apparent to him that his potential kidnapee wasn't only willing, but impatient to go with him.

"Hurry up," that smooth voice demanded from the passenger side as Baby slid in behind the wheel, his keys already in hand.

"What the fuck," Baby said eloquently. He cranked the car--a nondescript Buick that rattled slightly and had sticky rings in the cupholders from Baby's coke addiction. Not the fun kind of coke addiction, but the kind where you kick and curse at vending machines when they eat your change. "You know I'm abducting you, right?"

"If you worked for my father," Saul Lecter said disdainfully, "he would fire you for incompetence."

Baby gritted his teeth together and shifted gears, driving down the nice street the Lecter home was located on. He decided that he hated these pretentious houses, the crowds of curious people, the fog on his windshield from where the defrost hadn't quite kicked in. He'd already hated the cops. "Am I supposed to believe you wanted to be abducted? Because I'm calling bullshit, buddy."

"My name is Saul," Saul retorted. "Or did you neglect to learn my name in your incompetence?" While Baby quietly seethed, he added, "I've been watching you for days. I figured you'd break in at some point, but perhaps you aren't skilled enough for that. I thought they'd send someone more experienced for me."

"I have experience," Baby said tightly.

The boy shrugged and lapsed into silence. As Baby drove--sedately; it wouldn't do to draw attention to them, though he knew any nearby law enforcement would be busy with the fallout of the fire for a while--he snuck occasional glances at his charge. What he saw was all cool detachment and rigidity; Saul sat as if there were sleeping scorpions embedded in the fabric of the passenger seat, his shoulders held so straight that Baby imagined he could balance a glass of water on them.

"Is this some manifestation of the schizoid shit?" Baby speaks with his gaze fixed firmly on the road. His phone vibrates in his pocket--three time and then goes still. Fuck. He needs to charge it. He fumbles in the center console for the charger. "I didn't think impulsively going along with your kidnapper was a symptom of that."

Saul's tone was scathing. "I bet you had to use WebMD to look that up."

Baby had, in fact, looked it up on WebMD. He quirked a grin, shoving the charger port into the car's cigarette lighter and groping for his phone. "Yeah, I have the app."

There was a weird silence again (they were on the other side of town by now, but still about fifty miles from Winchester territory, Baby noted) and Baby was beginning to wonder if the kid was giving him the silent treatment when Saul said, "That's all bullshit anyway. My father doesn't agree with that diagnosis. It should've been purged from my records." He sounded somehow...hurt. "And I wasn't being impulsive. This is a calculated move."

Baby started to ask him what the fuck he was talking about but then suddenly, the car slid _sideways_ with a terrible screech and he was slamming his foot instinctively on the breaks. That only made the wheel jam up entirely as the Buick lost the road, and instead of a black back road the headlights were now lighting up a snowbank and Baby's heart went right into his throat. 'Black ice,' he thought, panicked. He was so shocked he was almost able to count the seconds until the impact slammed his head first against the back of his seat, and then against the steering wheel...and then there was only darkness.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the tables get turned--and turned again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bentley belongs to @HanniVroom  
> Wendy belongs to @WendyLecter  
> BOTH ARE AMAZING

He woke up to someone poking him.

Baby blinked up at a dark sky filled with stars. It was so dark that the sky seemed infected with them. There weren't even any streetlights, though a glow in the distance from the city they'd left behind reminded him where he was. Oh yeah. He was kidnapping the Lecter kid.

Who was currently nudging the side of his face with his gun.

He made an undignified sound and threw his hands up, horrified. "Jesus, watch where you're pointing that thing!"

"The safety's on. I know how to use a gun." Saul Lecter gave him a withering look. He was crouched beside Baby, his bare feet sinking down into the dirty snow on the side of the road. Now that Baby's awareness was returning to him, he realized that he was laying just off the pavement, only a few feet from the car, which was overturned in the snowbank that it had slammed into. Cold wetness was seeping into the back of his pants, though his coat protected his upper half. He sat up, groaning when the movement made his head pulse with pain. He stripped off one glove and felt along his hairline; there was an impressive bump already forming there, but the skin hadn't been broken. He didn't seem to have broken any bones either.

"So here's what we're going to do," Saul Lecter said, the gun still trained firmly on Baby.

'I think I'm the one being kidnapped now.' Baby dropped his hands, bewildered. This was supposed to be a fairly straightforward job. But now he was on an empty backroad, in the _snow_ , with an underdressed _boy_ who was holding a _gun_ on him and would likely get him killed--if not by outright shooting him, then at the hands of John Winchester.

"You're going to call your people," Saul continued, in the kind of voice that was /used/ to being obeyed. Baby couldn't help but find it fascinating; after all, it was coming from a guy whose lips were going blue with cold, and whose finger was shivering around the trigger of the gun in an alarming way. And yet he still acted like he was in complete control of the situation. Which in a way he was, but who was the one dressed in pajamas, huh? "Tell them to come here immediately. I'm going to keep the gun until they arrive, do you understand?"

"I...wait, you're gonna give it _back_ to me? That's the implication I'm getting."

"I won't need it after that. I'm turning myself over willingly." Saul narrowed his eyes. "I expect to be treated with respect."

"Look, I dunno what kinda game you're playing, buddy," Baby said as he fished his phone out, "but I can go ahead and tell ya..."

"...What?"

Baby smacked his phone against his leg, cursing.

" _What_?"

"The goddamn phone's dead!" With a groan, Baby closed his eyes, picking himself up off the ground and brushing wet snow from his pants. His head pounded, boom boom _boom_ , as he did so and the world lurched. All around them was darkness and snow. "Lemme use yours."

Saul Lecter frowned.

"Oh come on." Making a frustrated sound, Baby dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until little white stars sprang up. "Yeah, yeah, okay. So you don't have your phone. All right." He took off towards the overturned car and dropped to his knees, carefully slithering into the upside-down driver's side and claiming the keys. Then he got back up and went to the back, unlocking the trunk and letting everything in there fall into the snow. He dug through what was mostly junk, and came away with two mismatched socks, a spare pair of shoes (heavy workboots--the kind construction workers or...yeah, really only construction workers wear this kind of shoe), and a woman's jacket. A hooker--er, _business associate_ had left it in the car at some point and Baby had just thrown it in the trunk. It was a good thing he liked big women because he thought the jacket would fit Saul Lecter.

"Put this stuff on," Baby said, "before you freeze to death."

Saul squinted at him so much that Baby could almost hear it. But he put the clothes and the shoes on, and stood there afterwards, looking considerably less blue around the edges. "What are you going to do?"

Actually, Baby wasn't entirely sure. They were in the middle of nowhere, in the _snow_ , without a car or a phone. One of them was the captive of the other--though at this point, Baby honestly couldn't tell which of them was which. His uncle John was going to kill him. Slowly.

"Yeah," Saul said, sighing. "You're an idiot. Come on." He started walking down the dark road.

"H-hey!" Baby hurried after him, mentally composing his will. "Where're you going?"

"I'm not standing by the side of the road all night with you," Saul said scathingly. He walked like someone who knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing. "Do you want to freeze to death?"

"It's at least fifty miles," Baby pointed out. He was shivering already, and his headache was making it very difficult to think. "To where...uh...the place I was taking y--"

"John Winchester's house, yeah, I know that. _I_ did _my_ research."

"Then...you're going to walk the whole way?!"

"No." Saul stopped and turned on his heel, face stormy. Abruptly, Baby remembered that he still had the gun. Fuck. "We're going to walk until we reach the nearest phone. There's got to be a gas station on the way. Or..." He took a breath, pursing his lips. "Something."

"Can you...can you at least put the gun away?" Baby finally caught up to the boy, his gaze sliding over to where the gun was still firmly clasped in Saul's hand.

Saul muttered something under his breath that doubtlessly wasn't very kind and his arm shot out, holding the gun out towards Baby--not aimed at him, but offered. Baby took it uncertainly. Huh. It looked like he was the kidnapper once more.

 

+++

 

Bentley nearly spilled his coffee all over himself when he got the call. (Thankfully he didn't--this suit was _Armani_.)

He sat in his car, parked outside of the office building where he worked, tapping his long, aristocratic fingers on the steering wheel as he listened, before saying a clipped, "Understood," and hanging up.

Shame. He'd been looking forward to the dinner reservation his secretary had made for him earlier in the week. But it would have to wait for another night.

His little brother was in trouble.

 

+++

 

The smile Wendy was leveling at the man sitting across from her was not a kind one. But Wendy Lecter was not a kind woman.

This was one of the premier dining experiences in Baltimore, but Wendy didn't feel that she was having much of an experience. Her date was handsome but dull, incapable of carrying on a coversation without constantly rubbing his nose (rude) or mumbling (even ruder). But worst of all, he couldn't keep his eyes from roaming south every couple of minutes. Wendy made a mental note to tell her father about him. Dr. Lecter couldn't abide rudeness.

She excused herself politely when her phone began to buzz from inside her Prada handbag. In the powder room, she took it out and listened for a long moment, before her red, red lips curled up in a languid smile. "Oh dear," she said. "That simply won't do."

After she ended the call, she checked her mascara--flawless, of course--and powdered her nose.

A lady should look her best at all times, after all, even when she's about to kill whatever sonofabitch just kidnapped her little brother.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Saul is a little gay and Baby is a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dodger belongs to @Sams_Nice_Car

When he came across the two men walking down the side of the road in the middle of the night, Officer Dodger Charger was sorely tempted to keep driving.

He was tired. It had been a long day. Some college kids set their dorm on fire and he spent several hours sorting them out. Three-quarters of them were drunk. Just as he was finally getting ready to leave, yet another fire was called in, this time at Dr. Hannibal Lecter's house. The doctor was famous enough that even Dodger, who didn't own a television (not out of some pretentious need to be one of those people who don't own a television simply so they can _say_ they don't own one, but because his old one fizzled out in 2012 and he had never gotten around to getting a new one), had heard of him. In fact, the doctor was often brought in to consult with the department in cases where mental illness was suspected. Dodger didn't know him personally, though.

The fire was relatively small, with minimal damage. Since he wasn't needed, and technically he was off duty, Dodger didn't stay long. His next shift began at 6 am, and he wanted to get at least a little sleep.

Two fires in one day was enough to make anyone tired, and that was all on top of the usual parking and speeding tickets and citations he'd issued. One turned out to be to a little old lady who had backed into some douchey CEO's Camaro outside a drug store. Dodger still felt shitty about that one.

He felt he'd really earned his time off, and yet there they were, two men just walking down the side of this empty back road outside of Baltimore. In the middle of the night. He'd passed an overturned car not too long ago. He'd checked for anyone in the wreckage, but found nothing. He had been about to call it in, in fact, when he happened upon these two. What if they were the driver and a passenger? Some cops might have said fuck it and kept going, but not Dodger. He was the kind of man whose heart beat a constant rhythm of _Justice, Justice, Justice_. He'd wanted to be a police officer since he was two years old, and despite the stress he loved his job. He loved helping people.

So he turned on his lights, but not his sirens, and he pulled over. Then he stepped out of the car. The two men had turned around by now. One looked much younger than the other--like a high school kid, maybe. Officer Charger narrowed his eyes.

"Can I help you boys?"

 

+++

 

They were fucked.

Baby knew it as soon as the car slowed down and the lights started flashing. Fucking cops.

"Act natural," he said to Saul, before turning around. He wore a smile that he no doubt thought was friendly, open, and not at all like someone who had just kidnapped one of the most influential men in the city's son. It practically screamed GUILTY.

"Hello, Officer." The gun was holstered under his suit jacket, which was under his coat, and Babes really, really hoped the cop wouldn't search him because that would make this night quickly go from horrible to oh-my-god-just-kill-me-now.

Saul Lecter stood straight-backed and silent. His chin was tilted up and he was doing a fantastic job of looking at the cop as if he was something that Saul had found on the bottom of his borrowed shoes.

"A little late for a stroll, isn't it?" The cop peered at them closely. Knowingly, Baby thought. _Fuck_. "There's a car turned over a couple miles back. Looked like a pretty bad wreck. Was that your car, son?"

Baby opened his mouth, about to say that nope, he'd never seen that car in his life, he'd never even driven a car, he didn't even know what a car _was_ , when Saul Lecter's calm, cultured voice intoned, "It's his car. I was blowing him and he crashed."

The silence was long. And loud. "What," the cop finally said.

"What," Baby said.

"I was blowing him," Saul said, very slowly, as if they were particularly dumb children. "I had my mouth on his dick, and I was just going at it, and he lost control and went into the snowbank."

"That's..." The cop looked more uncomfortable than Baby had ever, in his entire life, seen anyone look. "Uh."

"We have a ride coming for us." Saul shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "And a tow truck for the car."

"It's illegal to...well...to engage in...that. While driving." The officer was slowly backing away, scratching the back of his head.

"Are you going to write us a ticket?" Baby turned to stare at Saul Lecter, who in turn was staring down the cop, his dark eyes never once looking away.

"Well, y...I should. Yes. I suppose." You could almost see the gears turning in the cops head. Like he wasn't sure what exactly he would put on the suggested ticket.

'Mindblown,' Baby thought, and nearly laughed out loud. He wasn't sure what Saul was doing. It seemed to be something along the lines of awkwarding his way out of arrest.

"A ticket for having dick in my mouth?"

"...I think." The officer took a deep breath. "I think I'm going to let this one go."

"Thank you," Saul said politely.

"But..." He gave them a stern look. "Don't do it again. You could...you could bite it off. By accident."

"I'll keep that in mind," Saul intoned.

The cop was almost gratefully getting back into his car, and Baby was breathing a sigh of relief (though he still wasn't sure if he was mortified or amused), when suddenly he paused. He got back out, the lights bathing his honest, open face in reds and blues.  
  
"Why are you in your pajamas?" He was peering closely at Saul's clothes--the thin nightwear beneath the coat. The coat which, though large, was obviously not a man's coat. "Actually...do you mind if I see some ID?" This time, he walked right up to them, and when he got a good look at Baby's face, he frowned deeply, one hand going to his radio. "Aren't you Paul Winchester?"

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Baby kicked the cop as hard as he could in the nuts. At least, he was pretty sure he made contact with nuts; the poor guy crumpled like a paper bag, all of the air going out of his with an audible whoosh. Baby already had his gun out and he brought the butt down against the back of the cop's head. As soon as the cop was down, he ran for the car, sliding into the driver's seat. Saul Lecter, to his credit, was right behind him; the boy slid in across from him, conscientiously buckling his seatbelt. "Hang on," Baby gritted out, and took off, swerving carefully around the prone body of the cop and then speeding down the road, praying to God that there wouldn't be anymore black ice. He'd already wrecked one car tonight.

"You just assaulted a police officer and stole his car." There was a sigh from the seat next to him.

"Relax." The car was eating up the road. He'd already turned the lights off. "My uncle'll pay the department off." He needed to find a place to stash the car. But at least it was warm, thank _Christ_ it was warm. He cranked the heat up all the way, driving one-handed so the other hand could hover in front of the vents. To his deep amusement, Saul Lecter's hands were hovering over the vents in exactly the same way. "So," Baby hazarded. "Back there...that was...?"

"Please don't have a big gay crisis." Saul's hands, Baby noted in the dim lighting given off by the headlights, were strong and square, and scarred all over. Not like he was some emo cutter (or even an actual cutter--which wouldn't have been surprising, given his psychological profile), but like he worked for a living. Which was weird, because the file said that he'd never had a job in his life.

The file.

"Awww fuck!"

"It was just to throw the cop off balance, you idio--"

"No, no." Baby waved a hand dismissively. "This isn't about my dick. I left your file back there. In the fucking car."

Saul shook his head, staring at Baby for a long, incredulous moment. "Well, Paul," he finally said, sounding like someone who was giving his fate up to the gods, "better drive faster."

"Wait. How d'you know my name? Was that in your research too?"

Wordlessly, Saul tossed something in Baby's lap. Curiously, Baby picked it up and it fell open; it was his wallet, his driver's license photo beaming cheerfully back at him. "I can't believe you mugged me."

"I didn't mug you. I didn't lay a hand on you. It fell out when you wrecked your getaway car." There was that cool scathing in Saul's voice again. "Where did you take driver's ed--in a closet?"

"Not in the closet," Baby said, unable to resist a goofy grin and a corny joke when the opportunity presented itself. He was warm, and he was driving a stolen police car, and Saul Lecter was kind of an asshole but Baby had already decided that he liked him. He liked him a lot. "I came out of that a long time ago."

"You..." Saul's eye twitched.

Baby laughed at him. "I'm a _gay_ ngster."

"Oh my God stop."

"What, you're a homophobe now? You were just talking about sucking my dick!"

"I'm not homophobic," Saul said, disgusted. "I'm an idiotphobe. And you, Paul Winchester, are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

He looked like he might continue on in that vein for a while, so Baby intercepted whatever else was going to come out of the boy's mouth by saying, "It's Baby. My name. No one calls me Paul." He grew very serious. "Paul's my slave name."

Saul facepalmed.

"Also, Saul and Paul sounds like some kind of indie band--"

"Stop. Talking." Saul pointed at the road stretching before them. "Drive."

 

+++

 

A very nice car came to a stop in the middle of the road leading out of Baltimore. It was the kind of car that costs more than most people's houses. Its clear, perfect headlights fell upon the snow-covered road, and a body curled up like a semi-colon.

Bentley Lecter climbed out, his long frame unfolding gracefully in the dark. He'd passed the car wreck a few miles back and, after examining it, had noticed the scattered file all over the roof of the overturned car. He'd gathered up all of the papers, arranging them neatly in a stack, which he put in the glovebox of his own car. Then he called a tow truck service--one of the ones which enjoyed his family's contributions, because he didn't particularly want the wreck to be reported. To anyone.

Now, he crossed over the twin beams of the headlights and stared down at the body. One exquisitely shod foot nudged at the body until it rolled over onto its back. Bentley was wondering if the man was dead--and pulling out his phone in preparation of calling a much different kind of towing service--when he got a good look at the face in the lights. His heart flipped over, and he was on his knees, Armani suit or not, in half a second.

As soon as his warm hand touched the side of the man's frozen face, dark blue eyes popped open, and then blinked rapidly. (Bentley noted the pupil dilation. Concussion? Likely.) Officer Charger's uniform was coated with a fine layer of snow, and as soon as he was conscious, he started shivering. He tried to sit up, one hand going to his head. Bentley got one strong arm behind him, guiding the other man into a seated position.

"Wha..." Dodger coughed, and then groaned. "M' head. _Ow_. What happe--" He cut himself off when he got a good look at Bentley. And blushed deeply red.

"Hello, Dodger," Bentley said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connections are made all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is based off of @FirstDefector  
> the Inis Chilton mentioned belongs to @wheelstoheelz

The first thing Wendy did--after politely excusing herself from her date, and mentally reciting the man's address (she had a feeling she'd be seeing him again soon...most likely in the Obituaries)--was call Lucifer.

Lucifer was not his real name. His birth certificate claimed he was Lucius Shurly, which was the kind of name that turns a boy's face into a punching bag. Lucifer had escaped this fate, fortunately. The first time someone made fun of his name in elementary school, he put an open jar of spiders in their backpack. He'd coolly watched as his would-be bully reached his hand in to pull out a book and then promptly wet himself. The entire first grade class went into an uproar. Except Wendy Lecter. She went up to him to ask if he minded if she kept the tarantula--fascinating creatures, tarantulas--and they'd been friends ever since.

Lucius earned the nickname "Lucifer" in elementary school, but he wore it proudly, to the dismay of the boys who had originally coined the name. He was proud about everything he did. He had, from what Wendy could tell, roughly ten thousand brothers and sisters, but Lucifer wasn't content to melt into the mix of siblings that populated Baltimore's educational system. (Their father was some kind of writer-in-hiding; Wendy had never met the man and from what she could tell, no one else had, either. She suspected some of the Shurly children themselves had never met him.) If his elder brother Michael distinguished himself by being perfect at absolutely everything (straight As from kindergarten through graduation, captain of the football team, leader of a church youth group), Lucifer went in the opposite direction. He was a mediocre student--mostly because his classes bored him, and he made his teachers uncomfortable with his piercing gaze and pointed questions. And as soon as he graduated, instead of going to an Ivy League like Michael, he disappeared for a few years.

When he came back, he was a little quieter, a little darker somehow. But he was inexplicably at the top of Baltimore's elite, so filthy rich that he owned two jets and more homes than even Wendy knows. And he could make things happen. Dr. Lecter and Lucifer Shurly were well-acquainted. Wendy was sure that they'd even collaborated on a few...projects.

Of course, Wendy had her own people already on the case. They were discreetly combing every inch of the Lecter residence, and a police officer in her pay had called with the news that an overturned vehicle, belonging to one "Inis Chilton", had been spotted on a back road outside of Baltimore. It was the same vehicle that witnesses said they'd seen parked outside the Lecter residence at least on one occasion.

Lucifer's phone number disappointingly did not contain three sixes next to each other. But Wendy called him anyway, and waited for him to pick up before she purred, "Darling," into the receiver.

The other end was silent, and then a surprisingly gentle, quiet voice let out a long, long string of expletives. Wendy waited, unfazed, for him to finish. Towards the end, Lucifer said something like, "And now you're going to fucking call me at fucking ten o'clock at night, after you did that shit to me. You've got some fucking nerve, Lecter."

Wendy pretended she didn't know what he was talking about. (The Manhattan Incident. The one that no one else knew about. Not even Bentley, and Wendy told her elder brother everything.) "I have a little problem on my hands." She was sitting in the back of her Astin Martin, her driver navigating the city traffic with practiced ease. She crossed her long, shapely legs, one perfectly manicured nail picking at an invisible spot on the fabric. "It might be of interest to you."

"Nothing about you interests me," Lucifer said viciously. From the sounds on the other end of the line, he was getting out of bed

"That's too bad." Wendy exhaled, a delicate puff of air. "It involves the Winchesters."

"...I'm listening."

 

+++

 

There was a privately owned car dealership not far from where the grown man who willingly referred to himself as Baby had stolen the cop's car. He parked said car in among the older models lined up in the back, locking the keys inside and wiping down the seats, the steering wheel and the door handles. By the time he was done, Saul was bouncing from foot to foot, freezing his ass off.

This was not how Saul had pictured this night going. He'd been planning this for weeks. Months, even. Ever since he accidentally walked in on his father carefully removing the organs from a body that had until recently been one of the family's lawyers, in fact.

That night still haunted Saul's nightmares. He didn't have any business being in the basement. It was generally kept locked up. Dr. Lecter kept medical equipment down there--expensive equipment. That's what he told everyone, anyway. For most of Saul's life, he, his father, and his siblings had moved from city to city, depending on where Dr. Lecter's services were in demand, or where Dr. Lecter's whims took him. This was public knowledge. What wasn't public knowledge was that the real reason for these moves was the criminal empire Saul's father was in charge of. They'd lived in London, in Venice, in Paris. Baltimore was the first place they'd settled down stateside since Saul was a small boy. So Saul would have stuck out among his peers because of his European education and upper class upbringing even if he didn't have his little Problem.

He'd been having trouble sleeping and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of milk. While he was putting ice in the glass (a preference that his siblings would have looked at him sideways over if they'd been there--but they hadn't been; Wendy and Ben were both years older than he was, and lived in their own houses in the city), he saw a flicker of light from the corner of his eye. The basement door had been left cracked.

His decision to see what was down there had been the worst one he ever made.

Dr. Lecter didn't see Saul when he crept down there, and he didn't see Saul when the boy crept back out, and then crept back up the stairs to his bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him before making a beeline for the adjoining bathroom, where he puked his guts up in the sink.

His father wasn't just a murderer. He was insane.

Saul knew then that he had to get out while he could. His entire life was a rigidly conducted orchestra. Dr. Lecter chose the homeschool curriculum he studied, he picked Saul's online college courses, he personally selected the league of psychiatrists and behavioral therapists who were working with Saul to get him to overcome his Problem. He had seemingly infinite resources of both people and money.

So it wasn't like Saul could just get up and leave. His father was one of the most powerful men on the East Coast! Even calling the cops was off the table; half of them worked for Dr. Lecter anyway and the other half...

They worked for the Winchesters.

That was when Saul formulated the plan. It was meticulous, and involved planting information with Winchester informants. Information that showed exactly how vulnerable Saul himself was. How beneficial it would be to get their hands on him, the guy who spent nearly every waking hour in the house where the Winchesters' biggest enemy and threat lived. And then he waited for the pieces to fall into place.

What he didn't count on was his would-be kidnapper being an absolute moron.

He'd expected someone dignified and deadly, a professional, someone who would show up like a shadow and snatch him away--into what would be, ironically, safety. Saul's expectations were admittedly influenced by Hollywood, books, and his father's own people. Baby Winchester was nothing like what he'd expected. He looked not much older than Saul himself, and he had big, bright eyes, dimples when he smiled (which was often), a sauntering gait, a loud voice. He was wearing _sneakers_ with his suit. And he seemed to attract trouble. It had only been a few hours and already they had managed to break several very serious laws in the process of simply getting out of town!

"What now?" Saul made sure his voice was bland and as disinterested as he could make it. One of them had to be sensible here.

"I got this," Baby assured him.

Ten minutes later, Saul was struggling not to scream as Baby cursed over the coat hanger he was working into the window of one of the locked cars on the lot. He was about to say, 'Look, good job, you tried, I'm just going to go home now, _asshole_ ,' when there was a popPOP and the lock flipped up. With a huge grin--as if he'd done something impressive!--Baby opened the door and climbed in, ducking down under the steering wheel. 'Please don't electrocute yourself hot-wiring this car,' Saul thought as he climbed into the passenger's seat. He was freezing, the tips of his fingers purple and numb. He wasn't quite sure his nose was still on his face; he couldn't feel it.

Baby got the car cranked, finally. He shot a triumphant look at Saul that was entirely uncalled for. "Told ya I'd get it."

As soon as Baby sat behind the wheel, though, his face fell. "What," Saul said irritably.

"Low gas. I'll have to stop somewhere." He glanced sideways at Saul.

"It should be blindingly obvious by now that I'm not going to try to get away."

"Yeah, why is that?" The snow was really coming down hard now. Baby didn't look like the type of guy to watch the Weather Channel when there was a perfectly good wall to watch paint dry on, but Saul always tried to plan for every contingency. His kidnapper picked a bad night to act; this was blizzard weather. "What kind of guy willingly goes over to the enemy? Gonna take a wild guess that it's not just for shits and giggles."

Honestly, Saul wasn't sure how much he should say to the other man. Baby was the nephew of Saul's own father's main rival; but did that put him in any position that would be of use to Saul now? It was probably better to keep his mouth shut until he could speak to John Winchester. And yet Saul heard himself saying, "The kind of guy who's father cuts people up as a hobby." And he told Baby Winchester all about the basement, and the blood, and his plan to throw himself on John Winchester's mercy. "There's no one else who could help," he concluded bitterly, letting his head rest against the cold window. Outside was a furious swirl of white. "My sister and brother wouldn't believe me; I know they wouldn't. They just...they _worship_ Father, and even if they didn't..." He swallowed, remembering all of the times Bentley and Wendy listened to his problems indulgently, and then turned right around and went back to their lives as if he'd never said anything at all. And he also remembered seeing Bentley shoot a man in the face, his own expressionless. Wendy had been married three times already...but never divorced. His siblings were killers, too. He'd known it for a long time. But Saul had been able to justify it as necessary for the good of the family.

How was disemboweling their lawyer good for the family, though? He'd seen his father pull out the liver from a freshly dead body, and then that night they'd had liver for dinner.

In a way, it _was_ good for the family, Saul thought, and gagged.

"Hey, man." Baby was driving very slowly now, casting worried glances at him from time to time. He raised a hand, almost as if he was going to pat Saul, and Saul had enough time to tense up before Baby apparently changed his mind and set his hand back on the wheel. "That's fucking awful. But it's gonna be all right now." A guilty look gate-crashed Baby's features. Saul saw him try to hide it, and sighed.

"It certainly can't get any worse," he muttered.

Five minutes later, when they saw a pair of headlights speeding towards them, snow or no, Saul began to think he might need to reevaluate that statement.

 

+++

 

Every New Year's Eve, the Lecter family held the party to end all parties.

Dodger Charger wasn't sure exactly how he ended up there. It was a private event, but every Who's Who in Baltimore was invited. Dodger wasn't a Who's Who. He was just a normal guy.

But one of the guys from work was invited, and he said he had a plus one, and his girlfriend was sick, and would Dodger pleasepleaseplease come with him, he didn't want to be among all those black ties without backup. Not police backup, but just regular friendly moral support.

And that was how Dodger found himself standing in the corner of a very nice room, his hands awkwardly tucked in his pockets as he tried to think of a way to escape without being seen. His friend had abandoned him almost immediately, chasing after tail (tail that was outfitted in things with Italian names that would take Dodger's entire paycheck just to look at). And then it had seemed rude just to walk out. But it was over an hour until midnight, and Dodger was ready to go home, thank you very much.

He was turning to begin his Mission Impossible slide towards the exit when he nearly walked into a god.

He was tall, dark and handsome in the way of Harlequin romances, with eyes that, kid you not, were _gold_ and rimmed in long black lashes. Dodger was so taken aback by this display of masculine beauty (and suddenly uncomfortably aware of his own ripped jeans and thin plaid shirt) that he forgot to say things like, "Sorry," "Excuse me," or even just "Hi."

"Like what you see?" The stranger drawled. He sounded like a Bond villain. Dodger felt his heart stutter...and his pants tighten. Holy _shit_.

"I drive a Corolla," Dodger blurted out. (It made sense in his head; he was not the kind of person urban gods would choose to hang around. He lived in a one room studio. He shopped at JC Penny. He drove a Corolla.)

"Show me," the stranger said, and hooked an arm through Dodger's.

An hour later, they were lying naked in the backseat of the Corolla, panting. Dodger had never done it in the car before. The god-like guy was draped over his chest, his breath whistling warm over Dodger's collarbone. The radio was on, and when the midnight cheers started the other man propped himself up enough to brush an open-mouthed kiss to Dodger's lips. "I'm Bentley," he breathed.

"D-Dodger."

"Happy New Year, Dodger."

He never saw the man again after that strange night...though the thought of him lingered. It was so strange! Dodger wasn't the type to have random, meaningless sex. He just wasn't a one night stand kind of guy. But he'd gone along without a second's hesitation.

'It doesn't matter,' he told himself when the itch of memory started to bother him--and he'd fall into thoughts of where Bentley might be, what he might be thinking of. Who he even was.

He never saw Bentley again...until now. Dodger sat in the front seat of a very nice car, his head aching from where Paul Winchester clocked him a good one. At first he thought maybe he was dreaming. No way did his gorgeous, god-like one night stand from last year's New Year's Eve show up like some kind of dark knight to save his ass.

Except that was exactly what happened.

"Did you see what direction they went in?" There it was, that voice. But this time, it wasn't all cultured seduction--there was something dangerous in those clipped tones. Dodger's uniform was soaked through and he shivered helplessly even in the heat blasting from the vents.

"N-no," he managed between clenched teeth.

Bentley's dark gaze slid sideways, taking in the picture Dodger presented. Then he sighed and pulled out his phone. "Yeah. Something came up." A pause. "I know. I _know_. As soon as I can." He hung up without saying "bye". Then he turned to Dodger and said, "I'm taking you to the Emergency Room."

"I need to report this," Dodger said--groggily. His own voice seemed to come from a long way away.

"Mm." Bentley's car made a slow U-turn. The snow was coming down thickly. "Do that."

'Hello,' Dodger thought, 'this is Officer Charger. A mobster hit me over the back of the head and stole my car. Then this mysterious guy I barely know showed up and saved my butt. He has a mole on his left shoulder blade. I'd kind of like to see it again. Over.'

 


End file.
